Page 130 of One Last Chance

“Looks like a faith community too,” Axel said and pointed to a building with a cross rising from the roof.

They passed what looked like a school, with wooden play structures—a house, a climbing wall, a swing set.

They walked down the path, and beyond the barn, she spotted a corral with horses, and beyond that, another fenced yard with cattle.

“It’s like its own world, tucked away in a forest,” Axel said.

“That’s exactly what it is,” said a voice behind them.

She turned, and Axel’s hand tightened in hers.

A man stood on one of the porches. He wore a pair of jeans, a jacket, a wool hat, his hair shaggy out of it, a hint of a beard, and Wellingtons. His arm hung in a sling. “Can I help you?”

It didn’t sound like he wanted to help.

A couple children, maybe five or six years old, ran around the side of the house into the yard, chasing a cat, who jumped on the deck and into the house. They stopped by the man—probably their father—and took his hand, turned and stared at Flynn and Axel.

“Um, I’m looking for someone,” Flynn said, and despite Axel’s hold on her, stepped forward. “Her name is Kennedy, and she’s my sister.”

A beat passed, during which her heart decided to step up and enlarge, cutting off her air, and then?—

“Yep, I can see that.” He sighed, looked at the kids, back to her. “Sorry, but she’s not here.”

Flynn blinked, trying to take apart that sentence. “She’s not . . .Wasshe here?”

He looked away, back to her. “Why are you asking?”

“Because it’s her sister,” Axel said. He also stepped forward.

The man held up his hand. Then turned to the kids. “Go inside. Papa will be in in a minute.”

Flynn imagined they looked a little suspect—blood had roughed up her hands, and she had wiped them on her pants, and Axel was also still soggy and beat up from the rocks. Had a bit of a scrape on his jaw.

“We don’t mean any harm,” she said. “I’m just . . . I’m just trying to find my sister. I lost her three years ago, and I thought she was dead. And if she’s not, then . . . I’d really like to find her.”

The man stood, stoic.

“And I think she’s here. And I think . . . I think she makes these—” She pulled out the black sparrow. “And maybe she’s not going by Kennedy. Her name could be Sparrow, or maybe . . . I don’t know . . . anything. But she’s beautiful and smart and creative and brave and loves animals and people and—” Her throat filled. “And if she’s not here, then I need to know so we can say goodbye. But—and I don’t know why—but everything inside me says that she is here . . . so . . .”

He made a face, then came down the steps. “I’m so sorry . . .”

Oh.

She closed her eyes. Nodded.

“I’m not allowed to?—”

“Flynn.”

Her breath caught. She turned.

And good thing Axel had hold of her, because her knees felt like they could buckle.

Kennedy stood on the porch of the lodge, the door open, a few other people coming out around her. Long red hair tied back with a handkerchief, in a tie-dyed dress, wearing moccasins, her face tanned, freckled. Skinny but fit and . . .

Oh.

Oh.

---